Page 66

“Hello, Jamie,” I say.

Jamie manages to recover his smile. “Hi.”

Heather walks between us as though nothing at all has happened and reaches for the box waiting on the low table. Then she opens the box. Beads. Cord. Silver letters.

Jamie turns his wrist until the name on his bracelet disappears.

Heather selects six letters and places them in a row.

O L I V E R

I understand why he stopped smiling.

Heather drops into the center of the beanbag and pulls Jamie against one side of her body. Her hand stays on his bare thigh while she sets the bead box in his lap.

Then she points to the carpet between her knees. “Oliver.”

I remain standing. She picks up the ruler. I sit where she indicated.

Her knees settle on either side of my shoulders. She takes out a length of cord and three small containers, setting dark green, charcoal and silver beads in front of him before pushing the six letters into their center.

Jamie looks down at the materials. “You’re making me do it?”

Heather closes his fingers around the cord. “You’re going to put his name on him.”

His mouth tightens, but he takes the cord.

Heather reaches behind the beanbag for something. She holds out a children’s book to me.

I look at the illustrated duckling on the cover before looking at her. “You want me to read this?”

“I brought you home for your voice. Use it.”

Jamie goes very still.

Heather takes the book from my hands, opens it to the first page and gives it back.

Then she puts her hand around the back of my neck and draws me closer between her knees. “Start.”

Jamie has the cord between his fingers but hasn’t put anything on it yet.

The book is old enough that the corners have softened and the cover has been bent repeatedly along the same lines. A child’s handwriting fills the first page in uneven block letters.

ELLIOT

A dark line has been drawn through the name. Above it, in neater handwriting, someone has written JAMIE.

I look at the page for another moment before lifting my eyes.

Jamie is watching me now. His bracelet is no longer hidden. His hand rests against his knee, and the beads have turned enough for the silver letters to face me.

Heather drops the first handful of beads into his palm.

I look from the name inside the book to the one around his wrist, then down at the six letters waiting between his legs. The sting in my right palm has settled into a steady heat. “You altered the inscription.”

“I corrected it.”

There are several questions available to me. I choose the one Heather is least likely to recognize as important. “Where did you get the book?”